


Fallen Haven

by TherapyCrocodile



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Angst, Blood, Combat, Comfort, DNF, Detailed Violence, Distopian, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Gore, Hurt, Hurt Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Injury, M/M, Multi, POV Third Person, Pain, Punishment, Scars, Violence, descriptive, dreamnotfound, dreamwastaken - Freeform, georgenotfound - Freeform, long chapters, mlm, sapnap - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-13
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-13 06:46:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28524183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TherapyCrocodile/pseuds/TherapyCrocodile
Summary: It had been fifty years since a person has rebelled against the rigid rules of society. After such a long time, it came as an intense shock when a seven-year-old boy disobeys and earns the title "Rebellious". He is put on display as a reminder of the rules they all live by. Fear does work best with people. After years of punishment and torture, a citizen decides it's enough.-tw: trauma, abuse, gore, and other graphic details
Relationships: Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 83





	1. The White Room Pt1

**Author's Note:**

> This will be updated once every 1-2 weeks since there's such a high word count! Thank you for your patience!

A raven’s gargling call echoes in the still air, it hesitates as it caws again, looking for companions. It was perched on a dry, dead tree outside of a handmade canvas tent. The base of the trunk used as a way to keep the ragged fabric held high, along with some rusty poles stuck in the earth creating the entrance. The raven grows bored of waiting for a murder to form, as it sees the semi-fresh corpse of a mouse outside of the tent. It opens its wings and glides down to the dusty ground. It hops for a second, surveying the scene, once satisfied, it clacks its beak and bends down to snatch the carcass. An arrow slashes through the bird’s side, dark feathers flying. It moved a couple of feet away, desperately flopping for a few seconds before it grew still. A low breath comes from the tent before a dirty blonde man steps from the shelter. He smiles a bit; he’d have to hunt like that more often, birds are plentiful and far more curious than the wild dogs. His weathered shoes crunch over the ground as he reaches his kill. He raises the bird by the arrow, examining the animal. Its dark eyes still bright as the death clouding hadn’t set in yet. He scans the area, looking for anything out of the ordinary. 

When he decides it’s clear, he heads back to the tent. His foot gently buries the rodent carcass under the loose earth, so he didn’t accidentally step in it later. He ducks under the canvas, closing the opening almost all the way in one swipe of his free arm. An upside-down bucket was anchored by the makeshift wall, where he sat down. A metal bowl lied under his feet, a place for the feathers as he plucked the dark bird. He didn’t like plucking birds, but skinning animals wasn’t really his cup of tea either. He grabbed a pair of rough gloves before picking the bird back up and ripping the arrow through its light body. He tossed the arrow towards his bow, which lied on the other side of the tent. It was surprising that he had actually managed to get a raven, they’re usually very intelligent, this one must have been from last spring. Slight remorse for the animal dwelled in his stomach but disappeared as his bubbling hunger was rising from the same area towards his throat. He inhaled, as he began pulling the feathers from the corvid’s skin. 

➶

He’d finished plucking and removing unneeded pieces of the bird in about thirty minutes, which was record time. The desperation for a decent meal was a good motivator. He dug through his duffel, grabbing his pan and some salt. The pans he’d collected over the years became in better condition as the city continued to progress. The current mismatched set he had found had some minor scratches in the bottom but that was about it, people really throw away anything and everything these days. On the ingredient and spice front, he wasn’t so lucky. It was a miracle to find some that weren’t contaminated or had more than dust in the bottom. He’d managed to get a few glass bottles of salt, peppercorns, basil, and some mixed ones. More often than not he would just use salt and pepper to save the other spices for a better meal. He carried the pans outside to his firepit, then went back in for the bird. He pulled his firestarter out along with some finely shredded paper. The paper was placed in the center with small branches and some thin bark he’d stripped from branches. He took some bigger chunks and placed them in a teepee. He flicked the firestarter, his hands shaking with each strike. Eventually, after about four failed attempts the sparks danced across the variation of kindling and an orange glow arose. He smiled a little and bent towards the ground, gently blowing on the surfacing flames. They began lapping past the shreds and pricked the teepeed wood. He backed off, watching the flames intently. He would have to wait for the coals to grow and the wood to settle before he could start cooking. 

He rubbed the raven’s skin down with a mix of salt and pepper, making a freckled outer layer on the pale skin. By the time he was done, the wood in the fire began to shift and fall down. He picked the pan back up and placed it on the edge of the fire. He stood and went back into his tent to grab the sealed container of fat he saved from previous meals. There was no way he would find butter or oil in the dumps, at least some that wouldn’t send him into a food poisoning episode again. He pulled his knife from his pocket and slapped it into the warming pan before settling onto the ground again. He stared at the fire again, even after years and thousands of fires, the way the flames crawled across the wood still intrigued him. He glanced at the pan to see the fat melting into a liquid. The man grabbed the bird and gently placed it in the pan, a soft sizzle pricking his ears. His stomach grumbled again, sending slight pain throughout his body. It had been a few days since his last meal and was some pitiful vegetables he’d managed to find in the dump. Food had been less and less plentiful lately, and it made him more and more unnerved. The bird meat hissed and popped as it cooked, sending delectable scents around the man. He drew in a long breath, the anticipation of a decent meal making his mood raise drastically.

The meat was a dark golden brown, a bit on the crispier side the way he liked it. He pulled it from the pan onto a plastic plate. The pocketknife returned to cut up the bird, slicing it into bite-size pieces. The worst part about living outside the city was having to eat everything he cooked due to no electricity. It was frustrating, but he didn’t eat that much between meals so his stomach was fine being extremely full every few days. The meat was tender and juicy, making his starving mouth water more than usual. He ate the entire bird in about twenty minutes, another record for the day. Once he was done, he lied on his back and stared at the sky. It was almost evening, the sun starting to dip a little. He blinked at the sun, shielding his eyes with his forearm. He exhaled, then heard the faint sound of a vehicle. He holds his breath, praying the possibility of just imagining the sound. The engine roar was growing closer. He sat up, dread and instant fear causing immense turmoil in his full stomach. 

He looked towards the sound and sure enough, an armored SUV was headed his way in the distance. Has it really been two months already? He stayed sitting up, less threatening than standing. Maybe they’d wait a day; they only did that when he had food poisoning earlier that year, though. Knowing how the punishment usually goes he’d probably lose his meal. The truck was eating the terrain, large dust clouds kicking up behind it. He exhaled, trying to calm his nerves buzzing around. It didn’t take long before it slowed and rolled to a dry halt, there was a hesitation before the engine shut off. The silence almost stung as the gentle pops of the car being off was the only sound besides the heartbeat in his ears. Three doors opened in impressive unison. Three men got out of the SUV, slamming the heavy doors and standing in front of the car. The blonde didn’t look at them, trying to stare at the pantlegs or the dirt around their shoes. He knew better than to make eye contact with them, his jaw burned at the memory. 

“Good afternoon, Clay,” said the leader.

Clay stayed silent, not lifting his gaze.

“Good afternoon, Schlatt. That’s what you’re supposed to say.” The man said, a tad more aggressive.

“Good afternoon, Schlatt,” he said flatly.

The man grinned and walked towards Clay, standing over the blonde. He grabbed the young man’s chin, his hazel eyes glinting with something. The dark-haired man was searching Clay’s face for any intuition of issues. It was rare for the blonde to cause trouble these days, but there’s always calm before the storm. He dug his hand into Clay’s hair, messing it up. 

“Your hair is getting so long that you’re starting to look like a chick.” 

Schlatt shot a glance at the men behind him. The two men accompanying Schlatt were more often not needed in the more recent months. They’re just a safety feature just in case. 

“Stand up, you know the drill.”

Clay stood slowly, raising his hands and slouching a little to seem less threatening. Schlatt took a glance at Clay’s ebbing fire and pan with cleaned bones in it. He smiled a little and bit at his tongue.

“Damn, that sucks. You just had a meal, and you’re more than likely going to lose it,” he paused, pulling zip ties out of his pocket, “Turn around.”

Clay followed the instruction, turning around as Schlatt pulled down his arms and double zip-tied his wrists behind his back. Schlatt gestured towards his goons. One grabbed a black bag and handed it to him, then he put it over Clay’s head. It was on overstep, why blindfold him if he couldn’t go into town anyway? They walked him into the car, throwing him in the middle seat between the two other men. Schlatt got into the car, and the engine started again. Clay had never seen the inside of a car before, they had blindfolded him every single time, even when his eyes have been almost swollen shut. 

The drive was always the same. Quiet, unless Schlatt felt like sending verbal jabs at him. The two men that came this time were different. Usually, two younger men came with to watch firsthand. It made Clay wonder if this was a special one, there were a few that had changed policies and restrictions. He may lose more than his dinner. 

➶

They arrived at the white building, the lack of windows an eyesore in the sleek and modern cityscape. The SUV was pulled into a garage, where Clay was taken out. His shoes touched the concrete, making a soft scuffing sound. The garage was very hollow and echoed any sound made, it made the door slams so much louder and slightly bother his ears. The building itself was very cold, which created many nights of Clay trembling in the corner desperately trying to keep warm. He blinked underneath the bag, his eyelashes brushing the fabric. He felt the familiar tug on his shirt to follow Schlatt down the hallway. They walked for a few minutes, the tap of shoes and his own breathing filled Clay’s ears. They halted, right on schedule. A high-security door hissed open after Schlatt entered a code. The cold air hit Clay, already creating a freezing ache in his bones. He was half shoved in the room, it was one of the two unnamed men. He faltered a little, still trying to hold a less aggressive stature. Schlatt said something to the men that he didn’t catch. Then he grabbed a hold of Clay again and helped him sit in a metal chair. 

Schlatt removed the bag, his face a few inches from Clay’s. He stared into the dark-haired man’s eyes, trying to get a read. This visit felt off already, and he was hoping he’d give a clue. 

“You’re not very mouthy today, Clay.” He commented.

Clay hesitated.

“Nothing to say.”

Schlatt furrowed his brow and nodded. He stood from his crouch, so Clay scanned the room. The left wall had a wire rack embedded on the wall with various knives, blades, tools, and pipes. His breath hitched a little, as a stand with IV bags stood next to a metallic table with a mini-fridge filled with blood bags. Schlatt grabbed his shoulder and pulled Clay’s upper body forward, cutting the zip ties.

“If you try anything, you know what happens.” He whispered. 

Schlatt pulled the blonde man’s shirt over his head, before making him stand again, unbuckling his ripped jeans. Once Clay was stripped down to his boxers, Schlatt zip-tied his wrists again, tighter than before. He traded Clay’s clothes for a black apron. Schlatt inhaled, stepped forward, and held Clay’s chin again, so the blonde would actually look him in the eye.

“The louder you scream, the more we inflict.”


	2. The White Room Pt2

One mistake is all it took for Clay. Even if it was an innocent mistake of a child. Assaulting an officer after was no small crime, even hundreds of years ago. But it didn’t include throwing a literal child into a white lit room and tattooing _Rebellious_ across his shoulder blades in blood-red ink and beating him senseless. That was the truth of this new society, too rigid and hardened. Defensive behavior and acts of rebellion or an uprising had been snuffed out of the gene pool. People that were eighteen or older were immediately put to death quietly, usually poisoned or taken out by a rogue hitman looking for some extra cash. Minors, although, were placed on display to reinforce the idea that anyone can rebel and will be punished justly. Unlucky for Clay, he was the first in fifty years to commit a crime under eighteen. 

➶

Schlatt put the dark apron on, swiftly tying the back expertly. Clay shifted a little, trying to not shiver in the cold room. Schlatt took a long look over Clay, then paused at his feet. 

“I never took off your damn shoes, thanks for telling me, you assholes,” he commented.

He bent down and removed the shoes, revealing Clay’s heavily callused feet and discolored ankles from inadequate bathing. Schlatt scoffed at his condition, almost seemingly disappointed in the cleanliness of the blonde. What did he expect? All the water near his tent was contaminated after what the cities did to the surrounding environment. Most of the time he cleaned the areas that were sensitive only to save clean water. Schlatt walked to the table, pulling a larger water bottle that was nestled in with the bags of blood. Just seeing the bags sent a jump in Clay’s stomach. He watched as Schlatt took a knife off the wall and sliced the top pf the water bottle off, making the liquid rain onto the bright for a few seconds, he shook the knife then placed it on the table. Clay lifted his posture a little as Schlatt started sizing up the blonde. He smiled before throwing the freezing water on Clay. It hit his chest first, sending an involuntary gasp from his lungs. He slowed his breathing, trying to focus on anything but the water rolling down his body. 

Schlatt grabbed his chin again, then the click of an opened pocketknife sounded. Clay didn’t have time to react before the dark-haired man grabbed a handful of Clay’s hair and slashed the knife through it. It was shocking. If his hair was long they would usually just buzz it, not crudely cut it with a pocketknife. He did a few more motions until his hair was all over his damp body or on the floor. The pocket knife was put back in its sheath and placed in Schlatt’s pocket. 

“Now the real fun begins, Clay.”

Another knife is pulled from the wall, one with a smooth and sleek blade. This was the only time Clay made eye contact on purpose, the first cut. Schlatt walked towards him again and knelt down to get into his face. He exhaled before dragging the blade across his forearm, Clay’s breath hitched, but he held his gaze. Warm blood slowly rolled down his arm, dripping at his elbow onto the pure white floor. It mixed with the murky water and dirty blonde hair. More cuts along the arms and shoulders, some shallow enough for just an annoying sting, while others burned like fire. He eventually looked at the floor searching for a distraction. He could feel the blood drying while some was still making its way down his back or arms. Schlatt was starting off very slow, which created paranoia in Clay’s mind. Schlatt had been his assigned torturer for the last five years, making them very accustomed to each other. The dark-haired man had even saved his life on a few occasions, giving him fresh bandages sometimes when they take him out of town and once when an apprentice had cut Clay’s wrist too deeply. If Schlatt had been a couple of minutes late then he would be dead. Everyone who worked in this section of the city was trained extensively in anatomy and medicine to harm but not to kill. 

At the end of the day Clay couldn’t absolutely hate Schlatt, he was just doing his job in society, even if he smiled at the blood welling from his skin. He’d been semi-zoned out to the point that one of the two other men was raising the wall across from Clay. There was a window behind it that was the size of the covering wall. This was for city-goers, also known as Citers, to watch the show. Some would look anxious or nervous at the public display of mutilation, but most watched with fascination and excitement. It was an event they waited for months at a time. Even without the fresh cuts and wounds, Clay always looked like he’d lost a fight with a pack of wolves. Scars raced all over his body, some raised and dark, while some were light and small. The biggest of them were on his back and shoulders. All the scars avoided the tattoo, not a single one touching the crimson letters. If a torturer messed with the tattoo at all, they would immediately be imprisoned and put to death. None of them even dared the possibility and avoided going near the ink like the plague. 

The cover wall was raised, and several citers were already standing there on schedule. Schlatt stepped away to give Clay some time to breathe. At least they were kind of considerate. That’s when Clay’s paranoia became real.

“Eret, you’re up. Remember you can only use your firsts,” Schlatt instructed. 

The skinnier of the two men stepped forward, taking off his jacket. He had his hands wrapped, clearly prepared for this. He looked nervous but was trying to hide that factor. Schlatt leaned against the table, watching intently. The man named Eret stood in front of Clay, desperately trying to portray that he was ready to take a swing at the man zip-tied in the chair. Schlatt could read him and looked at the window, his mood shifted instantly.

“Hit him,” Schlatt said coldly, but with a sternness that would usually make Clay flinch. 

Eret raised his right hand, steadying. Clay looked up at the curly-brown-haired man, seeing the surprise in his eyes almost made him smile. Even if Clay gets beaten down and is seen as less than dirt, he is intimidating and scary under the right circumstances. This one though, he’s bloodied and restrained, this fear is a tad pathetic. 

“Fucking hit him!” Schlatt yelled.

There was no hesitation this time as Eret’s fist cracked against Clay’s jaw. Clay groaned as his mouth instantly filled with blood as his teeth grazed his tongue. _Fuck._ He turned his head away from Eret as blood welled over his lips. Eret was shaking his hand and muttering quietly to himself. 

“Again!”

Eret whipped around and looked at Schlatt then back at Clay. Schlatt crossed his arms and bit at his lip and Eret swung again, connecting with Clay’s nose this time. Hot pain surged through his face, making his vision wink in and out for a few seconds. For such a small guy he sure did pack a punch. The iron taste was overwhelming in Clay’s mouth, the taste still bothers him after all these years. He swallowed the bloody saliva, trying not to throw up. His stomach was still full and he was desperately hoping he wouldn’t get kicked or hit in the gut. Schlatt seemed irritated with the lack of damage that Eret did that he strode right up and stabbed Clay right in the left side, missing everything important. Clay yelped, shocked before the agony coursed through his small body. Tears pricked his eyes, no way in hell was he going to cry in front of them. Schlatt threw the bloodied knife across the room, it streaking the floor red. 

“Both of you get your asses out of here.” He ordered.

Eret and the other man released the sealed door and left, leaving the two bloody men in the room. The lights under the floors and walls buzzed, even so far in the future the LEDs still hummed. There was a heavy silence as they both took time to breathe. Clay was heavily focused, smashing his arm against the new open wound in his side. It was bleeding heavier than the ones he already had, making a slight fuzziness arrived in his head. It wasn’t enough to be concerning, more irritating than anything. 

“How’s the pain level?” Schlatt asked.

Clay lifted his head, “I’m fine if that’s what you’re asking.”

His voice sounded rough from the blood running down it. It surprised him a little.

“That’s good, I don’t think you’ve been punched in the face for a while now.”

Clay nodded. “I didn’t miss it.”

Schlatt made a noise in his throat, then grabbed another knife off the table, this one was skinnier and sharper. He looked at the window again and adjusted his apron. 

“Stand.”

Clay looked at him with confusion, he’s never made him stand unless they’re moving rooms, but this wasn’t a move, it was too early. He didn’t want to hesitate too long and get knocked from the chair so he stood shakily, awkwardly hunched to apply pressure to his side. That’s when he realized his face was kind of swollen, everything felt hot and throbs rolled from his chin to the back of his skull. Schlatt came close, examining Clay’s face. 

“Turn.”

Clay exhaled a shaky breath and turned around, praying to himself. There was the sound of movement, then a striking pain in his lower back. 

“Fuck-” He let out, before gasping for air.

The pain knocked the wind out of him. He collapsed, hot liquid soaking into his boxers and running down his legs. He didn’t know where he was stabbed, only that it was close to the spine. He gritted his teeth, letting out gasp-like sobs with no tears. He could barely breathe in a whole breath. His body gave out and crumpled to the white floor. He’d released his side so the parts that had dried were open again, and adding to the pools on the floor. Bloody hair was sticking to his pale skin, creating a horrible mess. Schlatt looked at Clay on the floor and pulled bandages and gauze out of his pockets. He washed his hands with an antiseptic wipe, then started unraveling the gauze wrapping. He pulled out his pocketknife and cut the zip ties again as Clay slowly writhed on the floor. His breathing was ragged and louder since his face was against the floor. The dark-haired man cleaned the back wound first, not being very gentle and making Clay squirm under his touch.

“You know that the more you move the worse it is.”

Clay exhaled a shaky breath, trembling. 

“I-If you’d hurry the _fuck_ up it wouldn’t be worse.”

Schlatt flicked the back of his head, “Watch your mouth, you can’t talk like that in front of Soot.”

Clay rested the right side of his face against the cool floor. The fuzzy feeling in his head was still there, now more prominent from the blood loss. The cold floor was relieving to the face pain but that was about it. His entire body felt like it was throbbing and fast. He pressed a thick wad of gauze pads, then forced Clay to sit up so he could wrap around his hips and gut. He wrapped it semi-tight, then started working on the side wound. The initial cuts were dried and didn’t need to be bandaged. Clay rested his arms on the chair and groaned as the skin on his side stretched and stung. Schlatt had that one wrapped much faster since it was less of an intense wound. 

Once he was bandaged, Schlatt helped him against the wall. The chair was too much of a hassle to get into with how injured he was. Clay rested the back of his head against the wall, looking out the window wall that only had about two people standing near it, not even watching. His hands were still undone, which was fine since he could barely move on his own. Schlatt went to the far wall and talked into a walkie talkie. Clay could barely focus on anything, so trying to listen to a conversation wasn’t going to happen. There were a few beeps from the device then he turned to the blonde man.

“You’ll be getting a visit from this district’s commander. You answer him immediately. No hesitation, no sass, just answer the questions or I will see to it you don’t make it to eighteen.”

Clay nodded, looking up at Schlatt, his swollen eyes softened. Schlatt took off his apron and crouched down, draping it over Clay. The blonde blinked with confusion. 

“You can’t talk if you’re freezing and in pain. I’m also not always a monster if you believe that.”

He stood back up and walked to the fridge, pulling out IV tubing for the night. Heavy footsteps sounded outside, Clay looked at the sealed door as it hissed open. A man stood in the doorway, not much older than Clay. He had a long dark jacket on, with a black turtleneck. His pants were dark as well, and baggy. He held himself high with a slight slouch on one side. He stepped into the room, his hands in his pockets. He smiled, before crouching down to meet Clay’s gaze.

“It’s nice to meet you, Clay. My name is Wilbur Soot.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy cow! I'm very excited about the interest in this story! Thank you for the comments and kudos!!  
> I will be doing drawings for this book soon-ish, if you wanna see them, I'm on TikTok under TherapyCrocodile!


	3. The White Room Pt3

Clay stared into the cold gaze of Soot, the man trying to mask it with a genuine smile. His hair was longer in the front, curling with purpose across his forehead. He looked like a soft man, but Clay could see the malice behind the facade.

“You as well.” Clay let out, realizing he never responded to him.

Schlatt walked up to Wilbur as he stood from his squat. The curly-haired man exchanged a glance with Schlatt before clapping his hands together once. The sound bounced off the white lit walls followed by an unnatural silence. Wilbur pulled a small clipboard from an inner pocket of his long jacket and tapped a pencil on the top.

“Name,” Wilbur said, looking at Schlatt.

Clay raised a painful brow, they’ve never done something like that before. 

“Clay,” Schlatt answered him, crossing his arms. 

“Age.”

Wilbur started walking around the room as he filled things out, his shoes tapping on the floor. Schlatt was the one answering the questions, they started having their own conversation.

“Seventeen.”

Wilbur nodded, proceeding to ask for his weight, height, birth date, and crime committed. The torturer replied with one-hundred-and-thirty pounds, six feet and three inches, August 12th, and assaulting an officer. Schlatt answered each one with no hesitation like he’d quizzed himself before. It felt odd and invasive for two men to stand above him and know every aspect of his life. Some of these things he barely even knew. They continued for a little while longer, but Clay tuned them out. His mind was heavily focused on the wound on his lower back. It’s throbbing was hot and rushed through all of his muscles. It was the type of pain that made him want to stay still but also writhe on the floor. At least Schlatt had bandaged him up, there were times the blood clotting and drying on his skin was the only cover he received. He could feel it seeping through the gauze on his back, sticky and feeling like it was emitting heat. 

He was ripped from his thoughts to Wilbur in his face.

“You look a little dazed.” He commented. 

Clay blinked and shifted a little, making the black apron partially fall more onto the illuminated floor. 

“Schlatt, before you leave for the evening, make sure he’s given a medicated IV.”

“...Medicated?” Schlatt echoed.

Soot nodded, leaving both Clay and Schlatt confused. The two men even exchanged glances, which was a rare interaction. Wilbur looked out the windowed wall, as people stared with interest at the man who ran the city. It was strange, Soot had to only be a few years older than Clay, and he was the most powerful man in their sector. Wilbur smiled a little, rolling his shoulders so his coat adjusted elegantly. 

“Have a good evening, boys. Clay, I’m looking forward to our future conversations.”

Schlatt nodded and Clay stared at Wilbur as he gave a small wave before the door hissed open. He walked out and it shut with a hefty metallic click. Schlatt let out a breath, before digging through the bags of IVs. Clay watched him, searching the body language for something different. This entire punishment session felt off, and it was eating at Clay. Schlatt held the tubing, needle, and liquid-filled bag on a tray and walked to Clay, kneeling down again. He set the instruments on the floor, making sure it was far enough away that Clay wouldn’t try anything. Clay looked at the tray as Schlatt went to get the metal stand. You’d think with how often IVs were given to him he wouldn’t be nervous, but the fear sitting in his gut said otherwise. Schlatt came back, with white sterile gloves on this time. He wheeled the metal stand next to Clay, examining the blonde’s hands. Clay had actually decent veins, which was a surprise each time to Schlatt. Clay needed a distraction from this procedure, so he started talking. 

“Is there a reason that Wilbur didn’t meet me until now?”

Schlatt’s eyes flashed to meet Clay’s for a second. He exhaled.

“Your eighteenth birthday is coming up, less than a month.”

Clay’s stomach dropped instantly, a lump forming in his throat. He didn’t know it had been this far in the year. 

“W-... Were they going to tell me?” Clay asked shakily, his pain suddenly numbed. 

Schlatt didn’t answer, as he wiped the top of the blonde’s hand down with a cold alcohol wipe. The brunette man focused on what he was doing, avoiding the conversation. Clay watched him with desperation. This man was his enemy, but he needed some kind of comfort. He held a trembling hand over his mouth, feeling like he was going to pass out. 

“Clay, you have to stay still, please,” Schlatt ordered, softer than his usual tone. 

The blonde inhaled a shaky breath, looking away as Schlatt pushed the needle into the thin skin across the top of his hand. He gritted his teeth, trying to not cry. His jaw stung and his throat felt swollen. He set up the stand and the IV drip, connecting tubes after the air was out of it. Clay had never stared at him this long, he gaped his swollen mouth.

“Schlatt-”

The torturer whipped his head to face Clay, sudden anger across his face.

“Stop it, you fucking idiot! You knew this was going to happen someday, stop being a _bitch_ and take it like you always do. This has been your destiny since they tattooed those letters in your back!”

Clay jumped at the tone, feeling small. Schlatt turned away, sighing. 

“There’s Oxycodone in your IV, you should get a good night’s sleep, take advantage of that.”

With that, he threw his gloves out and the door opened. He took one more sideways glance at Clay on the floor before walking through the door. Clay stared at the stained floor, clumps of his hair strewn around. A man was at the window, watching. Clay raised his glazed eyes to stare at him. It was semi-dark outside and bright as hell in the room. The blonde man looked away, wishing he had more than just an apron to cover himself. He was thankful for Schlatt, even though he caused physical and mental pain. He was at least not a sociopath that wanted Clay to be uncomfortable every second. Him letting Clay know that his execution was soon felt like a warning. This entire facility got off to not telling him any information, but Schlatt broke that this evening. Clay gently touched the sensitive parts of his beaten face, realizing he’d have two black eyes. His mind began growing fuzzy, and his pain became a warmth versus a sting. He glanced up at the drip, watching the droplets shiver before dropping into the tube. His eyes grew heavy, then, sure enough, his eyes closed and he drifted into a numbing sleep. 

➶

High pitched taps sounded from across the blonde’s body. Clay’s eyes shot open, realizing he was lying on the ground. His head felt light and slow, making him looking around feel like years. It was still dark outside, he blinked again, wondering if he’d just been half asleep. Someone was tapping on the window. He lifted his head to see someone kneeling by the glass, they were holding a piece of paper up against the surface. Clay squinted, but as soon as his eyes focused, the person stood and ran away. The light burned his tired eyes, so he rubbed them with his free hand. Was someone actually there? Or were the drugs getting to him? He shook his head a little, feeling fuzzy again. He took one more groggy look at the glass and went back into his slumber.

➶

Clay awoke again to the heavy duty door‘s locks releasing and the door opening. He stayed lying down, a lot less threatening than shooting to a sitting up position. The door shut, then he heard shoes tap and the sound of gauze packaging ripping. 

“You’re awake, sit up,” Schlatt’s voice said.

Clay moved his arms and shakily pushed himself up to rest his back against the wall. His upper shoulders were the only things connecting to the cold surface, avoiding letting the wound make contact with the wall. Schlatt’s facial hair and sideburns were trimmed and cleaned up. He had antibacterial wipes and started wiping dried blood off of Clay’s face. It wasn’t an excellent job, but better than the flaking blood sticking to his cheeks and chin. He started changing the side bandages, not being very gentle, so Clay’s body kept retracting and flinching with every movement he made.

“That oxy probably kicked your ass, huh?”

Clay nodded, biting at his lip as he realized his pain was back, almost worse than the day before. His entire body felt like it had been thrown off a building. At least the good sleep made his head less fuzzy and slow. There was a small pile of pus and blood soaked gauze forming on the floor. Clay hadn’t realized how much had been used. 

“Why are you changing my bandages? You never have before.”

Schlatt taped up his side and patted the area.

“Trying to keep you healthy and have no infections.” He replied.

Clay stared at the empty window, then Schlatt grabbed his shoulder and made him turn around. Clay raised his arms and pressed them against the cold wall as Schlatt worked. The wound was much deeper than the usual ones, and it was going to be a bitch to deal with. Clay looked at the IV tubing falling against his wrist. He exhaled as air hit the open wound, it stung with white hot pain. Schlatt sped up and got it covered and dressed quickly. He backed off and threw away the used gauze dressings. 

Clay turned and leaned against the wall again, watching his torturer go through some cabinets attached to the wall. He pulled out a large blue-gray shirt and shorts out and looked back at Clay. He walked over to him and handed set the clothes on the chair that still stood in the room. He holds his hand out, and Clay takes it, groaning as he stood up. Schlatt helped Clay put the oversized shirt on, the material not soft but paper-like. It was at least some kind of coverage. Schlatt moved the IV stand to the chair so Clay could sit to put the pants on. He did this one mostly by himself, just slowly and shakily as he worked on it. Schlatt ended up helping him pull up the pants all the way and tying them. It was probably the most kindness and help he’d ever received since being a part of this system. It was a weirdly nice comfort, since the news of his execution was real now. In some part of Clay’s mind, the possibility of the laws changing was there. Now that he was so close to his end, the idea of freedom will stay that way, a fantasy. 


End file.
